


Happy New Year, Mr. Reid

by Fairclough



Series: RipperWho / RipperWhoLock / Edmund Reid's Adventures In Time And Space [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Ripper Street
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drunken Ruminations, Fluffy Ending, Let Edmund Reid Be Happy For a Second, Melancholy, Multi, New Year's Eve, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-28 23:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13282026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fairclough/pseuds/Fairclough
Summary: At the dawn of a new century, Edmund Reid is a broken man. Can he let go of the past that haunts him to find love once again?





	Happy New Year, Mr. Reid

**Author's Note:**

> This is a vignette posted (late) for the Ripper Street Writer's Club Holiday Challenge. It represents the mid-point of a larger, planned series, so I hope it's not too confusing.
> 
> (Also, I haven't posted any writing online in over a decade, so consider me a born-again fanfic virgin...)
> 
> Thanks to Ronique for looking this over, and for giving me the encouragement (and courage) to write and post this!

_12:15am, January 1st, 1900_

Edmund Reid was not a man who often allowed himself the luxury of introspection. Were he to spend idle moments reflecting upon the whys and wherefores of his life, he risked being crushed by the madness of it all. If he lingered too long on all he had lost, it would ruin him completely. While he had never seen combat in service to his country, he had spent over a decade of his life fighting an unending war on the streets of Whitechapel, and he bore the scars of it on his body, in his mind, and deep in his heart and soul. And still he soldiered on.

But tonight was different. It was the dawn of the 20th Century. Despite the promise of a new age, he was devoid of hope, as broken as he had ever felt. He gave himself permission to brood over the mess his life had become. 

The previous day’s Occurrence Reports were completed and signed off. After removing his glasses, he rose from his desk chair and poured himself another glass of whisky. He stretched his neck to the left, then to the right. Winced. His shoulders ached, knotted taut in tension. He slid a finger into the stiff collar of his shirt in a vain attempt to loosen it and ease his discomfort. It was starched and overly-formal, as demanded by his presence at the theater that night.

_The theater._ He winced again, a visceral reaction to the embarrassment he felt. It churned in his stomach and spun in his mind. Why had he even attended? What was the point of it, with Mimi gone? Ostensibly it would have been to celebrate the end of one century and the beginning of a new. But her leaving was the final straw. She was the last good thing that kept the pressure of it all from overwhelming him. Mimi left, and he cracked. Publicly. Humiliatingly.

He downed the contents of the whisky glass in one gulp to tamp the feelings down, to push them back underneath the stoic personna that was his trademark. Tonight was an aberration. Steady on, Edmund Upright, stay the course.

Reid refilled the glass and strode slowly across his office, out into the empty room beyond. The area usually bustled with activity, but tonight sat silent. Yes, he was in command of this station house, but it was not ‘his.’ It was not the Leman Street that he remembered - that aging brick building full of dirt and noise. This new station was sleek, built fresh for the modern age, but it had no character. He felt it sterile and lifeless. It would never truly be his shop. It was meant for another man...

He continued past the desks, out into the stairwell, and stood at the railing. He leaned forward, resting his elbows upon it, cradling the whisky glass in both hands, as he looked across at the portrait of Bennet Drake. He sometimes found himself here reminiscing. A great man, a dear friend, a life stolen in such a horrifying act.

_“No, my friend. No more fight.”_

A few solemn moments passed before Reid raised his glass towards the painting to toast Drake’s memory. He took a small sip of whisky and turned back towards his office. His pace was languid. He was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol in his system now. It would make his mind soft and would drown out the pain eventually. But he wasn’t quite there yet.

Back at his desk, he slumped down into the chair and sighed. His eyes wandered across the desktop. Mathilda’s photograph was missing. In an earlier fit of melancholy he had pushed it away into the drawer. He slid the drawer open and brought the frame out again, placing it back in the spot his eyes always fell. His dearest Mathilda, and her Samuel, and their baby girl Emily, named so for the late Mrs. Reid. For so many years he had struggled to deal with losing his daughter, and had never wavered in his conviction that she had survived that terrible ferry accident. Their reuniting was a miracle in itself, and the balm his scarred soul had most desperately needed. But their time together had been too brief. She had left Whitechapel not as the girl he remembered, but as a mature young woman with a bright future. He was proud of her, despite the ache he felt for missing her.

_“No, Drum. He won’t come. He won’t ever. He cannot.”_

The desk drawer still open, Reid noticed the small, folded envelope within. He knew what it held. He knew how painful it would be to look upon it again. But on this night of wistful recollection, he could not help but unfold it and remove the contents. Inside was a gold ring, with three red gemstones embedded in the top and the name Matthew Judge engraved on the inner.

Whenever he thought of the Captain, he felt the deepest despair. Their companionship had endured its ups and downs. They reached the highest heights when working together. Such trust they had, their strengths combining to test the limits of scientific theory. But their opposing natures had brought the lowest lows, and their disdain for each other’s life choices drove a wedge between them more than once. In the end, they always came together for the greater good. Reid had loved him like a brother, if not moreso. Had he known that their farewell at St. Katherine Docks would be the last time they ever saw each other, he would have done more, said more...

_“I’ll be seeing you, Reid.”_

The sound of raucous laughter from the lower floor of the building snapped him from his reverie. His constables were there celebrating the New Year with their nubile companions and free-flowing drink. Carefully, Reid placed the ring back into the envelope and tucked it into his jacket pocket. Glancing at the clock he saw that it was nearing one o’clock. He slipped his glasses into his jacket as well and finished the last of the whisky in his glass. Downstairs, they were singing now, something bawdy. To him, they seemed so young, free of care and full of hope for this new century. If only they knew how misplaced that hope was.

He stood, put on his overcoat and gloves, and took his hat in his hand. He made his way down the steps and out into the main lobby of the station house. Those gathered there scarcely made notice of him, which truth be told, he preferred. The snow was still falling as he donned his hat and exited the building. Leman Street was quiet, its residents taking up their revelry in the taverns and alehouses nearby. Even The Brown Bear looked filled to capacity, but he had not set foot within for many years now. Too many memories there. He required no assistance to bring the most painful to the forefront - they often rose unbidden, even in the best of times. But tonight, as he wallowed in his misery, he was powerless to stop them. He could not even summon the will to lift his feet and wander home. Motionless, he stared toward the tavern, and let the memory of her hit him full force. 

Abigail.

Abigail Wells, the woman who literally blinked into his existence from another world, another time. She had been ahead by a century, and had found herself sent backwards into the streets of Whitechapel in 1894. The Bear was where he had first met her, after Neville had hired her on. Though she had made decent attempt to integrate herself through dress and discourse, he knew, immediately, that there was something different about her. Otherworldly. She fascinated him; he found himself inexorably drawn to her. In time their friendship grew strong enough for her to trust him with the truth of her circumstance. It confounded him, but did not deter him. It only served to bring them closer. It was love, unlike any he had known.

And he had sent her away. That was a decision he regretted from the moment she left, and had not stopped regretting in the six years since.

A man who called himself The Doctor had appeared. He was Abby’s friend and companion; he also had the extraordinary ability to travel through time. He had been searching for her for months, found her here and came to take her home. She wanted to stay, damn the consequences. But Reid could not bear the thought that she would give up everything and everyone she had ever known for him. She asked him to come with her then, to join her and the Doctor on their adventures, and to see the glittering future she had told him so much of. Foolishly, he declined. Whitechapel had its claws sunk into him deep to the bone. He could not leave, not yet. She swore to return for him, to take him from this place when he was ready....

_“I love you, Edmund.”_

Reid managed to tear his gaze away from the tavern. He turned back to the station house and looked up at it, feeling the icy snowflakes prickle against his face, melting and mingling with the tear sliding down his cheek. Heaving a deep sigh, he began the trudge home. Once there he planned to open up a fresh bottle of whisky and drink himself into oblivion.

He had not gone more than a few yards when he heard it: a sound he had heard before, so many years ago. He stopped in his tracks. 

_Vwoorp Vwoorp Vwoorp_

The blue police box materialized from nothingness in an alcove ahead of him. The bright blue light atop it flashed in rhythm as it became more and more solid. Snow swirled and danced through the gust of air that accompanied the vessel’s landing. There was a soft thunk, then silence. 

After a moment the door creaked open and he saw her step out into the snow. She was dressed in the scandalous attire of her time: sleek, tight fabric on her legs that accentuated every curve, topped with a knitted sweater, her brown hair long and flowing over her shoulders. She was as he remembered her on the day they said goodbye. It was as if she had not aged a day in all that time. Surreal. Was his mind playing tricks on him?

He watched her as she took in her surroundings, her brow creased in confusion as she looked toward the police station. It would all be very different from her recollection of this place. She cast her gaze about, searching, until her eyes met his. Her mouth fell open for a moment, then spread into the widest, most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Without hesitation, she ran to him. He dared not move, certain that this was some cruel hallucination and she would disappear at any moment.

But no. She threw her arms around his shoulders with such force that he lost his footing. He stumbled backwards, grabbing tight to her to balance himself. She was real. She was there. He held her against him, sweeping her up off the ground in his embrace. In response she tightened the grip about his neck, burying her face there, which sent his top hat tumbling off his head into the snow. He paid it no mind.

For long moments they held each other. He heard her sniffle and choke back a sob, and felt tears of joy well in his own eyes. It seemed that neither wanted to be the first to let go. But soon Abigail loosened her grip and pulled her head back to look upon his face. He eased off, guiding her gently back to the ground but keeping his hands firm around her waist. Her hands slid from his neck to the lapels of his coat, and she smoothed them down as his gaze met hers.

“Well,” she said, straightening his tie. “Don’t you look debonair this evening?”

He laughed softly. “Needs must, when the occasion calls for it.”

She flashed a smile again and reached her hands up to rest on either side of his face. She stood on tiptoe, pulling him down slightly to brush her lips against his. The kiss was soft and sweet. Unhurried, as if they had all the time in the world. Perhaps now they did?

Abigail pulled her lips away, but continued to hold him close. He rested his forehead upon hers, their noses touching. All the pain he felt melted away with her caress.

“Happy New Year, Mr. Reid,” she whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> I have MUCH more planned out for this series, both the events leading up to this story, and the adventures to come afterwards! Stay tuned...
> 
> Non-Ripper Street Cast:  
> Abigail Wells - Hayley Atwell  
> The Doctor - the 10th, David Tennant


End file.
